


Senju's Monster

by Officer_Jennie



Series: Tobirama in Mythology [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mad Science, On Haitus, Science Fiction, questionable morals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-25 16:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Tobirama's never been considered a very moral person, and Madara's the first success he's had in a long while. He plans to do things right this time.Or: Tobirama plays god, and emulates his personal hero: Dr. Frankenstein.Update Schedule: On hiatus





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His first memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more focused on Madara than Tobirama, and is more science fiction-y than supernatural. It's not going to get really heavy in the science shit though, cause fuck I can't write that.

There was a being standing above him, blocking out the light.

It moved about, putting cold things against him. Muttered low sounds with wrinkled brows, moving a long, thin object across a flat surface in his hand. Scratching sounds and low buzzing noises filled the air about him.

The face loomed over him for a few moments, meeting his eyes and studying them carefully. Cold fingers pressed against his cheeks and, for a brief moment, the corners of the being’s eyes softened, the muttering turning into soothing rumbles. It was a nice sound, a nice softness to that face.

He didn’t have words, no way to describe this, to capture his first memory clearly. Later, he would look back both with fondness and deep regret. He only wished he could have memorized those sounds, wished he could remember those words, the first he'd ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters will be rather short, since Madara doesn't really have any vocabulary. I've got a few finished already, though, so they should come out quickly enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing characters that have limited vocabulary turns out to be difficult. Who would've thought?

It was cold. The air, his arms, his hands. The shiny surface his heels rested against, so easily smudged by his bare feet. Everything was cold, the hair on his arms standing up from the chill. He didn't like being cold.

He was usually laying down, his head cushioned on the thicker portion of the surface he sat on now. The soft thing that kept him warm was folded up now, placed at the end of where he slept. A layer of thin, crinkling material had been placed beneath him. It tore easily. He frowned down at it, scratching at one of the tears, not sure how to feel about the strange thing.

That being was back again, sitting in front of him. It showed up a lot to poke at him. It was trying to do something now, the usual object back in its hands, the long, thin one shinning in the dull light as it moved. He looked down, pressing a heel against the cold surface. They shinned the same way. He could see his movements in them.

The being touched him. Tapped his knee with the long, thin object it held. A few rough sounds rumbled out, its eyes focused on him as it leaned forward in its seat. After a moment, the tapping repeated, the bit of hair above one of its eyes lifting as it stared at him as if waiting.

He didn’t understand. It made some more noises, thin lips pursed together, but he still didn’t know what it wanted. It pushed itself up, walking towards another raised surface to riffle through thick objects filled with the same material it scratched on so often. The low muttered sounds weren’t directed at him anymore, so quiet they were near drowned out by the buzz and hum and irregular beeps that always filled the air.

He didn’t like not understanding. He tore a large flap of the crinkling stuff beneath him away, letting it flutter to the tiled floor. Not understanding made him feel wrong, his insides twisting up, made his jaw clench shut tight until it hurt. He didn’t like that either.

 

* * *

 

It was being extra odd today.

It had settled down right in front of him, no flat surface or long, scratching thing. It didn’t put anything cold against his chest or back, didn’t hold his wrist with two fingers and mumble, hadn’t even brought any sticky round things to place on his skin. It just…sat there. Face all pinched together, occasionally running a hand through its hair.

The same sounds kept coming out of it, repeated over and over, sometimes separated by a deep breath or paused entirely as it dropped its head in its hands. They were more drown out now, though, slow and rumbley but still not unpleasant to listen to.

Its face was all pinched together and tight, and the sounds changed. He didn’t like that face. Didn’t understand the noises, or why it kept staring at him. He frowned, pulling on the ends of his hair, watching the strands fall back against him. Could it help making those sounds? It always made some sort of low mumbles as it scratched away on that flat thing, but it hadn’t done this before.

A tap on his thigh got his attention. It cleared its throat, keeping its eyes focused on his as it continued. He liked its eyes. Didn’t know why, but they made him feel light and warm. He reached out, running his fingers along the cheek in front of him, leaning forward to see them better.

Its eyes grew big, cheeks mirroring them in color. It wrapped its long fingers around his wrist, removing his hand to hold it still on his leg. He tilted his head, placing his other hand on the two in his lap. He liked this, too.

Another tap, and he looked back up. The tint hadn’t left its cheeks, and its eyes weren't looking at him anymore, focused past his shoulder. It pointed at its throat and cleared it again, then pointed at his, repeating one of the sounds once more.

He wondered, for the first time, if he could make those noises, too. He tried. It came out rough, and it felt weird on his tongue, but he thought it was close enough.

When he did, its whole being lit up, and the air was stolen from his lungs. A wide grin, bright teeth and eyes, a light squeeze of his hand as it scooted forward, repeating the noise with more energy than before. He made the sound again, the beating in his chest speeding up as it smiled even wider at him. So he made the sound again, and again - more than willing to copy any sound it wanted, if it meant he could see that smile. He'd do anything to see that face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions/comments are both welcomed and appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Empty

The bed was brown. Its bottom was metal. The strange sheet that tore was paper, and he had finally decided that he did not like it.

His hair was black, like his eyes, and the blanket that kept him warm. The raised pink marks on his skin were scars. He ran a fingertip over one of them, feeling its small groves, brought his wrist up close to see it better. It almost shinned in the dull light of the cold room, reflecting the light as he moved his arm.

The being came back often, muttered to itself whenever it wasn't teaching him, sometimes held odd shaped objects that he could see through up to its face. It put colored liquids in them, deep reds and pretty blues, even a dark green one smoked away, though that one was placed quickly on a raised surface and not held close like the rest.

It was called Doctor. Doctor had white hair, white like the walls, the paper sheet on his bed, the coat it wore. Doctor had red eyes. That was his favorite, red. It made him feel nice, warm, like when Doctor would smile or speak softly to him.

He still didn’t understand much, but he knew colors, knew the names of some of the things around him. Knew he liked red, how Doctor’s coat felt between his fingers, the taste of something called sweet. He knew what he didn’t like, too: cold things, pinching needles, when his skin itched or had red bumps. But, most of all, he didn’t like it when Doctor left.

Doctor had started to leave him somewhere new, warmer, quieter. The lights could go out there, and the bed had no metal or paper, only blankets and sheets and a soft pillow. There was no buzzing or beeping, just a chair and an empty raised surface that he didn’t know the name to yet.

He liked this new room better, where he stayed when Doctor wasn’t around. But he still didn’t like it when they left the room with the paper-covered bed and the metal bottom. Leaving that room always meant Doctor was leaving him, too, and not even the warm blankets or the soft bed could make him feel less empty.

It didn’t feel good, being left. But Doctor didn’t understand, and he couldn’t make it understand, no matter what noises he made. He tried, and tried again each time they would come to this new room, but all Doctor would do was stare at him with those red eyes he liked and with that deep frown he didn’t.

It made him feel bad, wrong, not being able to make it understand. His hands shook, but he wasn’t cold. He raked his hands through his hair, yanking at the roots - it hurt, he didn’t like that it hurt, but he couldn’t stop pulling, didn’t know why he felt so wrong, why it all felt so _wrong_.

Doctor stopped him. Detangled his fingers from his black hair, held his hands and rubbed soothing circles there with its thumbs. Spoke gently to him, those red eyes soft and warm and comforting. He liked its voice, how it dulled the bad wrongness he felt, liked how Doctor would squeeze his hand as it spoke.

But Doctor still left. Shut the door and left him to the quiet, with that empty feeling taking over his chest. He tried to open the door, to follow it, but the door only rattled in its hinges, keeping him here and away.

Making sounds, noises, helped. He paced the room, his legs no longer shaking as they used to, able to keep him upright for much longer than before. He babbled, knowing most of what he said wasn’t words at all, but the noise filled the air, filled that empty in his chest just enough to make him not want to scream.

When he stopped, the empty came right back. He tried the door again, leaning his back against it when he failed, letting himself slide to the floor. At least Doctor would come back. He hugged his knees to his empty chest, burying his face there, arms and shoulders kept warm by his thick hair. Doctor might leave, but it always came back for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions/comments are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have these out faster >.>

“I don’t like it.” He curled his nose up, staring at the plate in his lap. The pale, yellow things twisted around his fork were noodles, and tasted wrong cold. Doctor had brought some before in broth, and he’d eaten those with a spoon. He’d liked those.

“Try this.” Doctor took the plate from him, holding out something round and red. He took it, spinning it around in his fingers, watching the light glisten on its skin. He took a bite, surprised to find it sweet and crisp.

“That’s an apple. It’s a fruit.” He nodded, rolling the apple between his hands as Doctor scribbled something on his clipboard. He liked fruits. Bananas were his favorite, though the plums had been good as well. He caught sight of the noodles again, glaring at them while taking another bite of his apple.

He liked talking to Doctor. Learning words made it easier to make Doctor understand him, and it made his chest hurt less often, his head no longer spinning when he got upset. Sometimes, his hands still shook, and his insides twisted, teeth grinding together from something _bad_ and _wrong_ , but he wasn’t sure what to call that feeling yet. Didn’t know how to ask.

Doctor was teaching him to read, too. Reading wasn’t as nice as talking - it made his head hurt more than anything else, the writing too small, blending together on the pages no matter how he squinted to make them out. But he did like it when Doctor read to him. His voice was warm, just like his smile.

A thought had him frowning back up at Doctor, who was still busy scribbling away, eyebrows pinched together in thought. Doctor explained to him once that he was taking notes, but hadn’t shown him what notes were. Sometimes, like now, his lips would move while he took them. Like he was talking without sound.

“Doctor?” The scribbling paused, Doctor glancing up at him, red eyes unfocused and flickering back and forth, as if riffling through his own mind. “What am I called?”

Doctor lowered his head. White hair covered his eyes, pen gripped tight in his long fingers. “You’re Fortyseven.”

He stared down at his apple, pushing on the exposed white inside with his thumb, turning it yellow-brown. Doctor hadn’t sounded like that before. It made him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t describe why.

“Fortyseven.” He hadn’t heard many names. It didn’t sound all that bad, though he liked Doctor much more. He bit his apple again, letting his eyes drift around the room, mentally naming everything he could. Doctor went back to his notes soon after, the silence falling away and leaving the air more comfortable between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, Madara actually knows some words now!
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood

Anger.

He finally what made his fists shake, what made his teeth clench and jaw hurt. What made his insides twist and left him feeling  _wrong_.

He hated it. Hated how hot his skin felt, how he couldn’t seem to breathe, hand tangled in his hair tight and tugging. His legs wouldn’t stay still, pacing in the small room, hearing Doctor’s words and calm tone but unable to process any of it.

That only served to make the anger worse. Because he didn’t  _understand_. He didn’t understand  _why_  he was angry, and being angry made him feel  _sick_  and  _wrong_. He didn’t know how to stop it either - didn’t know how to make the feeling go away, and his thoughts couldn’t keep up with Doctor’s words, he didn’t know what he was saying, didn’t  _understand_ , and he didn’t like it, he  _hated_  it,  _he hated it_  -

Glass shattered on the floor, liquid pooling in the edges between the tiles. He stared at the broken pieces, not really sure how they’d gotten there, not sure why his hand hurt, why something warm was dripping off his fingers, mixing pink with whatever had spilled beneath him.

Pain. Pain made it easier to focus, gave him something else to feel. It cut through the fog of his mind, let him see the thick red coming out of his palm. He thumbed the oozing liquid with his other hand, hissing at the bright sting it sent shooting up his arm.

Doctor was next to him a moment later, cloth in hand as he guided him away from the spreading mess on the floor. The cloth burned as it soaked up the red, but Doctor tied it on his hand anyway before moving on to clean the floor.

He was shown back to the softer room much quicker than usual, the daily ‘testing’ cut short as Doctor left him alone again without another word. By the time he managed to lay down, his hand had started to itch under the bandages, but scratching at it only made it hurt worse.

This time, it wasn’t anger that made him shake, and he wasn’t quite sure why his eyes kept wetting themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be happier, if only because this made me sad and I don't like being sad :(


End file.
